


Bound

by Alex1920 (LookingSideways)



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: M/M, Marriage, fluff upon fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 12:33:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10594107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LookingSideways/pseuds/Alex1920
Summary: Chirrut Imwe- 19. 1st rank guardian. Fully devoted to Baze Malbus.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [desperatetimes (lyricl)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricl/gifts).



Chirrut idly runs his hands over carved wood, feeling the legends passed down for generations beneath his fingertips. Telling of devotion, loyalty, connection. His hands stumbled on the familiar carvings, forcing him to realize the nervous energy that was seizing his body whole.

Deep breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth. Just as in an evening meditation. Chirrut feels for the small package hidden in the folds of his robes, reassuring himself. Staying still when there was so much to do made him nervous and fidgety, but the elders enjoyed taking their time. For this, he could wait.

The door swung inward, revealing a younger initiate. With a shy smile, she simply said, “The elders are ready to hear your request.”

Chirrut knew them well. Some had taught him, some had offered him advice when he needed it most. Almost all of them had dragged him by the ear at some point.

Only two years before, he had stood at this exact spot, waiting for his final test to attain the rank of guardian. Somehow, he was more nervous today.

The highest elder, Master Yan, addressed him first. “What is your request before us today?”

Chirrut took a breath. He would not trip on his words that he had practiced so carefully. Slowly unwrapping the small shard of kyber, he lowered himself to his knees. Back straight, hands out, he reminded himself. “I, Chirrut Imwe, ask of my elders to give me the honor to be bonded in the Force with Baze Malbus, for this life and beyond.” His voice was strong. He did not stumble.

The elders, as was customary, did not respond instantaneously. The fading of his voice was replaced by the faint sounds of the spring winds howling outside. In this prone position, Chirrut was reminded why he was always frustrated by meditation: having a single focus be the point of his thoughts for hours on end was near impossible. His mind sped ahead, jumping through possible conclusions and reaching into every single offshoot.

He knew that proposals for marriage between guardians were rare. Not impossible, but to devote your soul – to promise to entwine the life forces of two beings together for eternity – that was not a decision to make lightly. He also knew how the masters saw him – a young, brash troublemaker scraping the last out of his second decade of life. Who was he to take such a promise, in their eyes? If only they could know the way his body felt against Baze’s (like his other side, or a favorite childhood blanket) or the way he had found his counterbalance, how their minds and bodies alike fit together like dark and light (impossible to separate, needed for the world to fit just right).

“What would you do if we denied your request?”

Chirrut could barely focus on Master Yan as his mind sped ahead to what was now the sure future – a lifetime of being so close, yet never truly tied together. Yes, he would still love with all his soul, but the desire to publicly proclaim it, to bind himself in the Force to the one he loved – the truest promise to make – was overwhelming. Baze had given up a life as a monk for him – straying from his inward path to begin a path of community. This was his chance to show his faith in his partner.

“I would remain devoted to the Force and the temple.” He paused, feeling the way the air moved around him, cold and stiff. “I would remain devoted to Baze.”

He wondered if Master Ilne raised a questioning eyebrow like he’d often heard she did. Nobody scoffed or teased like usual. In front of him, they would be in full robes, truly the keepers of the faith and the laws of the temple. A guardian knew from the end of their first class that the Force connected all living things, and that as part of the Force, they too were connected to everything else. To allow the connection to others to wither in the pursuit of a single connection was counter-intuitive to the way the Force guided beings to go. To be bound together made several into one – fully enjoined in the ways of the Force, looking outward together instead of inwards.

Chirrut’s mouth could race just as much as his mind. “I know you think of me as young and headstrong, but –“

“Chirrut.” It was Master Paavu, speaking with the same kind tones that she addressed the initiates with. “Don’t think that we cannot see into your true heart and devotion.”

His mouth was dry, his arms exhausted. He swallowed, and said, “Yes, my elder.”

He felt the hard callouses and tough skin of older hands wrap around his own. Master Yan took his kyber and molded Chirrut’s hands around it, leaving a small gap between hands. Metal rasped out of its sheath, and the barest hint of the cool metal found its way between his upturned hands. Without the kyber to connect them, left separated from right.

“Just as this kyber was once whole in the Force, so do you have the opportunity to be joined.”

Chirrut clutched his halves of kyber, feeling its energy and hearing the soft humming. His jaw clamped shut in an attempt to stop his tears.

“If there are no further requests, you are free to return to your duties, guardian Imwe.”

Bowing to the elders, Chirrut made his way to the wooden doors, feeling the choked sob rise out of him as the carvings slid shut behind him. His face splits into a wider and wider grin as emotion – happiness, relief, fear, confusion, excitement – slams into him.

 

* * *

 

The elders had approved, but it would be moot without agreement from another person: Baze.

Chirrut felt the smooth edge of sliced kyber, feeling for the single chip at the end and the way it caught on his thumb. This was his piece, he had decided.

Chirrut had been studious. He had read all the books, listened to all the legends. He knew that it was customary to sit down in the caves for days on end before selecting the right piece of kyber that connects with your living Force. He had tried meditating before the evening bell for weeks, but with no success. The kyber never seemed to call for him like it did the other guardians. Instead, the soft humming of the pieces was everywhere – and it was the song that led him to the right piece. When he first picked the shard out of the underground caves, it was because it sung to him in just the right key and enticed him in just the right way.

Now, with the pieces separate, he could feel the way the Force moved around each piece. Both were home, but the left was his. The right, deep and sure as Baze, was the other half.

The door creaked open. Baze’s footsteps fell heavier than usual – he was tired. It was the most intensive sparring day of the week on his schedule.

Baze grunted and Chirrut felt the other bed, long since pushed against his, give way. Chirrut scooted over, checking for injuries to patch up as Baze undid his protective clothing. His lover sighed – a deep, rumbling sound – once he was undressed and comfortable.

“Do you remember when you became a guardian?”

He hears Baze scoff. “Of course I do.”

“You gave up your path, your life –“

“I chose to become a guardian because it was the right path for me.” Baze’s words are sure, but Chirrut knows he thought the issue was long resolved.

“You did it to serve with me.” Chirrut feels himself swallowing down words, fighting against a nervous frenzy of sentences.

“You were the right path for me.” Baze was always precise. His words were never meaningless.

Chirrut chokes on his planned declarations, his hours of practice falling through. “You- you’re the right path for me too.” He fumbles for the kyber hidden in his robes, thrusting the right half towards Baze. “This is yours.”

Large hands take the piece out of his own, and Chirrut hears nothing but the howling wind again. Chirrut feels like squirming in the moments bleeding by as Baze examines the piece.

“And this is mine.” He reveals his half with the smooth edge. “Well, I mean, yours doesn’t have to be yours if you –“

Baze needed no words to stop his lover’s ramblings – only his mouth. Chirrut leaned into the kiss with desperation, nervous energy turning into a forceful tongue. Baze was slow and calm, taking Chirrut’s face into his hands, brushing the growing stubble of his hair. They break apart, grinning. Baze is clutching on to his half of the kyber, protecting it in the palm of his hand.

“Together,” he breathes, taking his hand in Chirrut’s.

 

* * *

 

Before they face the world as one, they must learn to face every element of each other.

The marriage ceremony is private, with only the officiator and the needed witnesses allowed to attend. Chirrut is covered completely with cloth that he has been assured is deep red, redder than the wildest Jedhan sands. Baze, he knows, is kneeling across from him, covered entirely with the color of the sky.

It isn’t until they both reach for each other with their gloved hands that Chirrut can feel Baze’s tension that seemed to seize every tendon. Chirrut smiles, although he knows Baze can’t see it through their veils. Their kyber falls into Baze’s hand first, and Chirrut envelops the blue hand with both of his. Intricately woven twine wraps around his neck, constraining over the thick cloth. He finds the notch on the necklace and nimbly ties the kyber to it, hearing Baze do the same. The crystal rests just below his clavicle, connected to the lung, where all life enters and leaves the body.

The twine is cut from the same strand as their necklaces are used to tie their wrists together. The first witness, Des – the first one to welcome him to the temple, all those years ago – exposes his wrist to the world. Chirrut feels the rough bite of the twine as it wraps and tightens around his wrist. A tug as Des runs the strand over to Baze. First joined in the spiritual, now bound in the physical.

Chirrut sits still, back stretching upright as Des takes off his veil and gloves. The air seems colder, sharper without the haze of cloth blocking his face. Baze lifts Chirrut’s bound hand to his face, and kisses it. The stubble of Baze’s beard scratches against the fading scars of his right hand. In turn, he kisses Baze’s hand, moving his bound hand in the same motion. The skin is rough on his lips, turned hard by the biting winds of the Jedha winter.

Excitement threatens to bubble over Chirrut as they rise as one. Master Paavu leads them down – deep into the catacombs below the temple. Down here, the song of the kyber grows stronger. Chirrut can feel the piece laying against his chest begin to hum with the movement of the living Force. Far below the Jedhan surface, Master Paavu stops. Without a word, he cuts the twine binding them.

Chirrut feels his arm give way, drifting to his side. A ruffle of clothing – a bow – from their master.

Then they are alone.

“Do you remember the first time I talked to you?” Chirrut senses Baze’s uncertainty, his need to analyze and reexamine everything that’s happened over the past few hours. But Chirrut knew that Baze was happiest when he let himself relax into the moment. Chirrut found peace from their surroundings – the Force echoing around them, alive and full of the essence of the Universe itself. Baze had always needed reassurance from the physical world, even when the living Force hung around them like the air before a summer storm.

Chirrut offers a hand to his love, which is snatched up as if he might change his mind if left to decide too long. Baze’s hands are rough, not just from sparring but the work he enjoyed doing around the temple.

“I remember the first time.” Chirrut can imagine it clearly. The early bite of the morning frost on his nose, the smell of the purple radishes just beginning to flower against the cold. The courtyard was quiet, too early for the morning classes to begin. Normally, he would be happy to sleep until the first bell, but he was determined to practice his forms so he’d be able to beat –

Rough dirt scratched open the skin on his elbows as he fell chest first into the path. His annoyance turned into embarrassment as he heard someone shuffle behind him.

“I’m sorry, I had set my spade down, I didn’t think this early –“

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Chirrut’s ears had decided to catch fire as he recognized the voice – Baze Malbus, his only unbeatable classmate of the 4th year initiates.

“You’re not. You’ve got cuts.” Baze didn’t seem too amused, but he could be smirking in plain sight. “Come here, the Sillum plants are good for that.”

Reluctantly, Chirrut sat down, waiting for the eventual mocking. Instead, he felt cool gel rub over the raw skin of his elbows. It did feel nice.

“Sillum plants are for healing. They’re not fully ready yet, but they’re almost there.” Before this encounter, Chirrut had begun to doubt whether Baze could say more than one sentence at a time. It was strange to hear Baze – silent when sparring, silent while meditating – to speak so willingly.

“What are you doing here?” It was a decent question to ask, given the hour. Mostly, Chirrut was simply curious.

“I help tend the gardens.” A hint of embarrassment finds its way into Baze’s voice. “The older monks say that I’m good at it.”

“Can you teach me?” All memories of sparring have disappeared from Chirrut’s mind – the only thing that remains is the smell of overturned dirt, and a voice more soothing than he could have imagined.

A small huff from Baze brings Chirrut back to the present. “I remember you tearing out little Junipers instead of weeds.”

“In my defense, they feel the same.” Chirrut finds himself biting back a grin. “But that’s not the point. The point is that is the moment I knew I’d be with you the rest of my life.”

Baze makes a small hum of disbelief. “You were nine.”

“And I was right.”

He can hear the quiet sound of Baze’s laugh. “Well, how come you didn’t propose to me right then?”

“I was waiting for the perfect moment, when the five planets aligned –“

“Why do you always need to exaggerate?”

Chirrut feels himself draw nearer to Baze, like NiJedha orbiting its planet. “You are worthy of bragging about, that’s why.”

Baze huffs, but allows himself to be drawn into a kiss. Here, with his husband’s body surrounding him, and the song of the kyber flowing through him, he feels peace that stretches on into the unknown.

**Author's Note:**

> Gardening Baze was inspired by Ichi (lightbows)


End file.
